Seeing
ads in the town shops, I went to a concert at the Anglican church, St.
George's-in-the-Pines (with a name like that, who could resist?) by the
New Philharmonic of Cologne. I was describing to a friend where it was
-- "at Buffalo and Beaver" -- and she cracked up, saying that
someone else had proposed the theory that whoever named Banff's streets
had criss-crossed predators with prey. Too funny.

A church lady introduced the concert, and told us we would leave feeling
blessed and joyful. Works for me. The ladies had also put on a spread
of cakes and cheese with tea at the intermission. The musicians shared
it with us, and it looked like it was dinner (and lunch and breakfast)
for them. The (I use the singular advisedly) reporter from the Banff
newspaper was there covering the event. He took the time to get their
names right, but had to leave to cover something else, he said. Hmm,
sounded suspiciously like an excuse to go watch hockey playoffs to me.

So,
he wasn't there to see the clarinet soloist almost lose it when the Canadian
Pacific RR went whistling through town (not the percussion Mozart wrote)
or to hear the rousing ovation at the end. Looking surprised and greatly
pleased, the Armenian concert mistress asked,

"You want to go home?
Or you want we play more?"

So, on they went with a "Russian
Dance" which brought a standing o, and was followed "so you
go to sleep and have nice dreams" with some Bach.

About 10.15pm
we finally walked out of the church onto Beaver and then Bear. This
far north, this time of year, there was still just a hint of afterglow
of the 9.30pm sunset in the west. Sweet.